


Thin Line

by chrystening



Category: Magi: The Labyrinth of Magic
Genre: Anal Fingering, Anal Sex, Enemies to Lovers, Fluff, M/M, linked arousal, reader is bad at feelings, the most slow burn my stories go..., we continue idioms for titles
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-03-08
Updated: 2019-03-08
Packaged: 2019-11-13 19:57:22
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,409
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18037907
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/chrystening/pseuds/chrystening
Summary: After the events of Maharagan, you still swear convinced Sinbad is up to no good.... You swear.Sinbad / Male Reader.





	Thin Line

**Author's Note:**

> THANK YOU N FOR YOUR [redacted because ao3] AND WOWWWW THANK YOU FOR YOUR PATIENCE! <333333
> 
> all that glitters the squeakquel
> 
> i'm happy 'all that glitters' was nice enough to warrant a few [REDACTED]... though... i reread it and... hm, lol. it's... um... vintage  
> (i don't like it.)
> 
> finding a title for this was hard until i was writing your tsundere ass, and thought "haha, a thin line between love and hate huh.... Wait"
> 
> but yeah honestly besides [reDACTED] and maybe final fantasy, i don't see myself writing all that much... my major... there's a reason it's called architorture
> 
> ALSO, WHAT THE FUCK IS GOING ON WITH MY FORMATTING LATELY LOL i switched the google docs from word 2007 (yeah, i'm that cheap) and just... my italics and spaces between words are so fucked. even with word 365, it's fucked. please tell me if shit looks ugly, ugh.

_He’s hiding_ ** _something_** —

—was the first thought that rang in your head as your eyes shot open.  

You awoke to the sight of a familiar ceiling. A simple look around the room told you your friends were gone, up and about somewhere around Sindria. You wished you shared their vigor as you sat up in bed, cringing slightly when your head softly pulsed with agitation. 

You questioned the ache when the recollection of last night crashed into your memory like a wave. Your heart stopped. Your body went up in flames, heating up in utter mortification and embarrassment. Your mind was a jumbled blather:  _ that  _ **_bastard,_ ** you had been made an absolute  _ fool  _ of, played like a puppet with strings—  

Your head shot up. You scrambled out of bed, rushing to the mirror.  

Your hands slammed down on the dressing table as you leaned forward, rattling the bottles, leis, rings, and party miscellanea left from Maharagan. They clattered and fell to the floor as you looked frantically at your reflection. You scanned your neck, your face, your chest. You scanned for evidence of … of  _ whatever  _ that con artist had done to you.  

_Nothing_ —

_nothing_ —

_ nothing _ — 

You deflated. 

There was nothing, no incriminating evidence. No proof.  

If the experience hadn’t been humiliating by itself, the fact that nothing had come from it surely was.  

“That  _ bastard,” _ you groaned, your fingers massaging your temples.  

_ … Hypnosis?  _ Or some mind-control, you figured.  

You laughed hopelessly. Of course... of  _ course  _ the all-powerful king had mind control in his arsenal. 

You closed your eyes, the sound of waves crashing ashore and seagulls calling audible even so far from the bay. The realist in you bade you to stop the amateur sleuthing you were already concocting up again. The pride in you bore you to continue, to seek the truth. There wasn’t something right with that man, and your friends were already too far in his claws. You had to protect them, somehow.  

Or at the very least, you admitted, you had to have the last laugh.  

Sinbad... Your thoughts trailed towards him, towards last night. His voice replayed in your head, always sounding as if he knew something you didn’t. You pictured his face, lips grinning self-assuredly. Eyes of amber, smoldering and lidded. You breathed deeply, chest rising. His hair, too — lurid violet under torchlight. 

Your eyes shot open and you saw your reflection’s cheeks alive with color. You shook away those thoughts. It was his ability, his hypnosis, you declared mentally. After tidying yourself up enough to be seen in public, you looked in the mirror with newfound determination. 

He had  _ not  _ seen the last of you.   

\- 

In another wing of the palace, there was Sinbad. He was seated at his desk, elbows on the table, hands steeped below his chin. An onlooker might’ve said his gaze was hard, discerning, pensive, his expression unreadable–  

But if Sinbad were being honest, he’d admit not even he could get an understanding on his own feelings at the moment.  

Mystified he was on  _ why  _ exactly you had remained on his mind. You – your voice, your breath, your pleas from the other side of the door – had played in his mind on sporadic repeat all morning.  

When he was discussing with his council, when he signing papers, when he was alone – the image of you, suspicious, challenging, and willful, reappeared in his mind’s eye. 

He felt a flicker of amusement. It was cute that you must’ve thought yourself quite convincing before he had cornered you, clear suspicion in your eye. You were smart not to trust him so easily, but you were not seasoned enough of a liar to hide it.  

His lips quirked. Your worry for your younger friends was cute, too. Your hair, your eyes, the gold around your wrist.  

He stood to yawn and stretch the kinks out of his muscles. When finished, the smile to his face returned. 

_ You _ were cute.  

\- 

You slinked through the palace, your steps light and quick, but your countenance loyal to your endeavor to act natural. The past few rooms you had sifted through yielded no results. If you were caught, you’d just say you had gotten lost. If you were going to sneak around, you were going to do it right this time.  

Your eyes trailed up to the blue sky. And what better time was there to appear innocent if not broad daylight? The cover of night hadn’t helped you, after all. Remembering your failure, your frantic hands, the desperate heat that had raced in your blood— your heart skittered.  

_ God, this is ridiculous,  _ you thought, hot shame rushing to your ears. You licked your wounds only by remembering that it was him who pulled these thoughts, him who was at fault. 

Bringing you out of your thoughts were the clang and scrape of metal, alongside the hum of swords unsheathed. Your curiosity piqued, you turned a corner. You were brought under a roofed colonnade, which opened up on its left side to a palace courtyard. Just one of many, you knew.  

Besides the idyllic image of trimmed grass surrounding a spraying fountain and lazy, rolling clouds in the sky, your eyes were drawn to a familiar blonde figure. You smiled at the focus on his face, the discipline in his stance. Alibaba would become a great king someday, you were sure. All the more reason you had to expose Sinbad for what he really was... 

Your eye fell on his teacher. Sharrkan was a mirage of sienna and white under the sun, so agile and quick you couldn’t follow all his moves. Each clash of a blade was ceremonied by scintillating steel. Alibaba was struggling to keep up, even if he was holding his ground.  

Your current quest for vengeance momentarily forgotten, you took a step forward to chastise him on his defense, when you chilled. 

From essentially thin air appeared Sinbad, striding to them both. You wanted to claw the pleasant look off his face, vexed that there was no doubt he hadn’t concerned himself with you at all. There he was, beaming as if nothing of note had occurred between you both within the past 24 hours. Unbothered, unlike the near obsession you were forming with him. 

You watched with bated breath as he exchanged a few words with Sharrkan. 

“You’re  _ late,”  _ you heard Sharrkan chide.  

“Sorry, sorry, I got held up,” Sinbad chirped, brushing aside his subordinate’s complaint. Sharrkan muttered incomprehensibly, but Alibaba seemed grateful for the small reprieve, and also grateful for the man’s presence.  

You swallowed thickly, watching Sinbad take a sword from Sharrkan. It looked natural in his grip, an extension of himself. You stepped closer to the nearest column, half your body hiding behind its berth.  

You didn’t know what you expected to see, from watching them spar. But in battle you knew the worst of people could reveal themselves. Your eyes narrowed and your jaw tensed.  

They began, immediately Alibaba going on the offensive.  

Sinbad was unconcerned with the heat in the boy’s strikes, deflecting them all with minimal movement. Sharrkan was flatly criticizing Alibaba from the side. You dragged your eyes across Sinbad’s figure, as if looking hard enough would reveal his secrets. The ease in his gait, the cords of muscle in his forearm, the careless billow of the tail of hair that swished behind him. Sinbad dodged a frustrated lunge from Alibaba, and you knew you were just as exasperated as he was.  

The man was just untouchable. He was too self-assured, too certain of his invulnerability. He was perfect, you groaned. You gritted your teeth, face warming in what you refused to believe was anything but irritation.  

The battle paused when Sinbad placed a calm hand on your friend’s shoulder. You blinked, eyes still hard but confusion in your face. 

You strained your ears, but you couldn’t hear much of anything. You could see, however, the man tutting at Alibaba. He smiled, before taking on Alibaba’s dagger and his Balbadd sword stance. Sinbad spoke, and Alibaba listened. You found you couldn’t look away from Sinbad as he let out a flurry of swift thrusts with the short blade. He moved like he was dancing to a song. 

It was over before you knew it though, and while you couldn’t hear much, you heard Sharrkan’s distinct “Show off...” 

Sinbad handed the displaced prince his weapon. Alibaba copied his sparring partner, the latter watching attentively for flaws. There mustn't have been any, because Sinbad nodded in approval and beamed. He patted your friend on the back, perhaps a bit heavy-handed judging from Alibaba’s sheepish coughing. Suddenly, you realized you had never seen Sinbad… interact.  

You hadn’t known when you had leaned forward, hand on the cool, smooth pillar beside you, enraptured in the scene. If you didn’t know better, you would’ve thought Sinbad looked something close to genuine. 

You continued staring, watching him retreat to the sidelines as Sharrkan took over the lesson once more. 

His golden eyes regarded Alibaba’s technique further, flitting from his footwork, to his stance, to his movement, to— 

—to you. 

You jumped nearly out of your skin, scuttling back into the cover the shade gave you.  

But he had already seen you. He had already seen you, and that was evident in the languid lidding of his eyes and the ghost of a smirk playing on his lips. 

_ Did you enjoy the show?  _

You warmed intensely. You felt your whole body rattle at the mist of those words in your head,  _ a purr, a question, a whisper,  _ all at once. You couldn’t even send back a glare or retort, caught in his saffron gaze. 

You stepped away, disappearing behind the corner. 

You skirted down the palace corridors, trying to both ignore and will away the racking against your ribs. No matter how quickly you strode, though, you couldn’t outrun the image of him that swam in your head. But you definitely could try. You walked faster in tandem to your growing inner turmoil.  

You walked and walked, all idea of investigating gone from your head as rooms passed you by.  

You finally stopped when you found yourself in a garden. 

It was far from the worst place to get lost in, you admitted as a soft mosaic of color lit your vision. Your lightning magic gave you a resulting aptitude for life magic, which led you to some mild interest in flora. Gentle chirping made your head turn, and you saw there was a birdbath. 

A smile graced your face before you could help it. You exhaled, all thoughts melting away in this oasis. You closed your eyes to listen to their chirrups, when there was the scuff of a sandal on the ground behind you.  

Something in you instantly knew who it was, and you were filled with dread. Regardless, you accepted the cruelty of fate and calmly opened your eyes, turning. 

Sinbad raised his hands in mock peace.  

You spoke through gritted teeth. 

“... King Sinbad…” He cocked an eyebrow, smiling.  

“Just Sinbad’s fine.” He folded his arms and put a thoughtful hand under his chin. “In fact, I remember telling you that some time ago...” You felt your cheeks boil from both the embarrassment and indignation at any mention of the night before, even a vague one. 

“What exactly is it that you want?” you asked, losing your patience. Just being near him sent conflicting emotions rampant in your mind, all of which you had to ascribe to his meddling with your mind. You had to. 

Not waiting for an answer, you walked through the garden at leisure, your eyes trailing over starbursts of color. You heard him chuckle, and you rolled your eyes openly.  

“Glad to amuse you.” The sound of steps told you Sinbad was walking with you, though luckily a few respectable paces behind. 

Sinbad smiled and cocked his head, watching your attempts at ignoring him. 

“Do you think I’m evil?” 

At the question, you paused and your head whipped to him.  

Sinbad…  _ evil? _

…  

You averted your eyes and inspected a flower more closely, brushing a lurid violet petal with your fingers. 

You ran it over in your head… the joviality of Sindria’s citizens, the loyalty evident in his guardians, the reverence he had earned from your friends. ... _ Evil… _

“... I...” you said, straightening and leaving the flower alone. Unbeknownst to you, Sinbad’s gaze on you was serious and watchful, curious of your answer.  

You turned to him, with a narrowed gaze. “I find you underhanded.” 

At your answer, Sinbad’s face fell back into its former neutrality. Sinbad laughed sheepishly under your glare. He waved his hands nervously. 

“Hey, hey – I swear I’m not  _ too _ bad a guy!” 

You didn’t believe him, and it must’ve shown because he laughed again. You turned to the flowers. 

“You’re right to be suspicious of me. But, I’m serious…” 

A haze of ivory suddenly popped into your vision. You looked nearly cross-eyed at the flower placed in front of your eyes. It was a pale blur, until your vision quickly sharpened. In front of you was a trumpet of curling white petals. An amaryllis. 

You took it in between two digits curiously, twirling it between the pads of your fingers until you abruptly remembered who exactly had gifted you it.  

Your eyes shot up to Sinbad, whose gaze was leveled on you in slight amusement.  

“... I’m not all bad.” 

His face told you he was clearly amused, but there was sincerity in his eye that you didn’t know how to react to. All too aware of the perfect, balmy weather that kissed your skin with sun and wind, your heart palpitated in your chest. You looked away, inwardly embarrassed but unwilling to show it.  

You huffed and placed the amaryllis amongst those of its kind in a bush. 

You were about to bid him farewell, when his eyes shot up far behind you. You frowned, turning to see. 

Distantly, you heard the voices of Ja’far and a girl … Pisti, was it? 

_ “I don’t know what he’s planning.” _

_ “Aw, I think it’s a little cute~” _

_ “Well, maybe he does need someone to keep him in line... besides me.” _

The conversation meant little to you, but Sinbad’s strange expression piqued your interest. You began to listen more closely, stepping forward. You yelped when you felt a hold around your wrist. You turned to him and tried to free your arm. 

“What—  _ unhand  _ me—” you said, before being shushed. 

Sinbad winked at you. “Follow me,” he said, as if he was giving you the choice. 

Before you knew it, you were pulled into a room. You furrowed your brows, about to snap at him as he closed the door behind you both. You looked at him like he was crazy, bug-eyed. 

_ “What are you doing?”  _ you asked, but were silenced by a finger. Sinbad had his ear to the door, listening intently. You felt your aggravation grow with each passing second. 

You gave a look to your surroundings. It was a guest room, surprising as you didn’t know there were guest rooms in this wing of the palace. It was dim, curtains were pulled over the windows. Your eyes skirted across the bed, and your head whipped towards him. 

“They’re gone,” he confirmed, standing straight. 

Sinbad, satisfied, strode to you. He took in the look on your face, momentarily bemused, before chuckling into hand. 

“Hey, hey now — I resent the idea that you think I’d force you to do anything with me,” Sinbad said with a good-humored, wry smile. His eyes, leveled on you, were growing more and more somber as he crept closer.  There was invitation in those words, and when spoken you grew acutely aware of the silence in the room, the sound of his footfalls. 

Your heart was beating in your ears, and you resented the fact that he could make you feel this way. You didn’t take any steps back as he advanced, facing him head on. 

When you were so close your noses were some centimeters’ breadth from touching, your eyes narrowed and fell from his eyes to his lips. You watched them move as he spoke. 

“Besides, I don’t  _ have  _ to use Zepar to make you do anything,” he said, lips curling. Zepar, you supposed, was his ability. You could’ve brought up the incident last night, that he indeed  _ did  _ use Zepar to make you do something you wouldn’t have, but your mind bade you to let it go, for once. Probably because it was irritated that no longer could you pretend he was the orchestrator for  _ all  _ the thoughts in your head. 

Sinbad didn’t make any moves, instead locking gazes with you. You felt heat swarm your belly, your hands grow clammy. You had to come to terms that there was no reason that you were feeling this way, none besides the fact that you did, somehow, want him. 

“That’s what’s so irritating,” you said lowly, fists tightening but your body closing the distance with color on your cheeks, anyway. 

If your plan was to tread the waters, Sinbad’s was to pull you in. As soon as you connected, you felt his tongue slip out to slide against yours. You made a muffled sound of surprise at his enthusiasm, to which he hummed. A broad hand cradled the back of your head, the bangles and metal on his wrist clanging together delicately in the shell of your ear as he moved. His hand was light, by no means keeping you there.  

While that should’ve been comforting, you felt only the stirring of frustration because no matter how much you wanted to deny it, you truly had no excuse. You didn’t  _ want  _ to retreat. 

Your pride was slowly forgotten, however, when you felt his tongue sweetly drag along yours, a move that made you tremble and outwardly moan before you could help it. You were sinking into the kiss even further, when you felt phantom touches run down your frame. They brushed against your ears, down your arms, taunting you by skirting around your thighs and your chest.  

You believed it was Sinbad himself messing with you — until you realized both of his hands were anchored on your body. As if it – whatever it was – could sense the moment you learned this, the touches pinched your nipples playfully. 

You made a wanton noise in response. Belatedly realizing that, you separated in a fluster. Your eyes shot open, and a second after Sinbad’s came to an open as well. His face was impish, trying to appear guileless but dispelled by the mischievous glint in his eye. Your brows furrowed in indignance — you would not be fooled. Your mouth opened to speak, but you were cut short by his pushing you down onto the bed. The air was taken right out of your lungs. 

“You— you said you didn’t have to use Zepar!” you sputtered dumbly, recognizing the naivete in your own voice. Sinbad was grinning down at you fondly, already shedding the robes off his broad shoulders. His slowly baring himself made you swallow drily, and you were sure that wasn’t from any mental suggestion. 

His hands sank into the space of the bed beside your head, next to your flushed ears. You gulped. The shadow his body cast over you should’ve been cooling, but all it did was make you heat up in wretched anticipation. 

“I  _ don’t  _ have to,” he said blithely, as a lock of violet slipped from his back and landed against your cheek. Your breath hitched in your throat. “But sometimes it  _ is  _ a bit more exciting, isn’t it?” He lowered down to your face with a smirk. You squeezed your eyes shut in expectation of a kiss, and were disappointed when there was none.  

Instead, you felt his hands  – for sure, this time – ghosting up and down your body, their touch soft but still leaving a trail of fire wherever they scoured. You exhaled, and before you could take your next breath, it was ripped again from you. He began suckling at your neck, moving from one spot to the next as he pleased. You felt doted on, your body being pampered and indulged in so physically. You struggled to stay silent, though despite your efforts, your voice pitched from the sensation. All annoyance had been whittled away by his hands, his lips.  

Zepar’s presence remained on the outskirts of your mind, inoperative but surely there.  

You couldn’t help but let out a purr when Sinbad lowered his adorations to your chest, though frustratingly shy of your most sensitive spots. The kissing, the sweet strokes of his tongue... 

After a few moments, you realized he was asking permission.  

Just hours ago, the concept of you surrendering your mind willingly to the one person you had resolved not to would’ve been preposterous.  

“I— _ Yes, _ ” you exhaled, equal parts breath, voice, and rasp.  

It was instant. You felt your body being riddled by feeling. You groaned as your body arched off the bed, your limbs paradoxically feeling wound up but like liquid at the same time. You could feel the dormant presence of Sinbad’s power surge to activity in your mind. Green edged at the corners of your vision, before dissipating quickly.  

You opened eyes you hadn’t known you had squeezed shut to peek at Sinbad, but you didn’t get much of a look before you felt his lips fall onto your nipples. You were blinded by white, dizzying, behind your closed eyelids.  

_ “Sinbad,” _ you slurred, though hardly comprehensible. You were finding it hard to form coherent thought under these circumstances.  

There were fingers playing with the fabric off your hips, nails scraping against your skin. You pulled away from Sinbad at that, hissing through your teeth. Intent on not leaving you to rest, he dove past your face to worry the shell of your ear. Your waistband was being yanked off your frame, and was free of your limbs once you belatedly lifted your hips. The same happened to your top, shrugged off in the moment. 

You felt embarrassed at being so vulnerable, but that was quickly replaced with the goosebumps forming against the cool air on your bared flesh. But if you were cool for that moment, you were on fire the next as Sinbad palmed your erection in one hand. You wriggled, trying to create more friction but also enticed by the fleeting, half-hearted touch he was giving you. 

“Patience,” he said, and you didn’t have to look to know he was grinning. You brought your hands up to his shoulders. Your whole body was current, perhaps literally as you felt electricity buzz under the pads of your fingers.  

Sinbad’s hand crept north of your head, slipping under a pillow in search of something, and returning with it in hand. You didn’t know what the hell Sinbad was waiting for, why he wasting time while you were here,  _ suffering. _

You regarded it through bleary vision — it was a vial. Of what, you knew you’d soon find out. 

Attention returned to your bottom half. Between your legs you were hard, your length the apex of heat. It wept, a drop rolling down the shaft and dripping off your skin. Your toes curled as it continued to pulse, seeking attention. 

Sinbad hummed, lowering himself. Your heart sped at the prospect of finally,  _ finally,  _ being relieved, and you shamelessly spread yourself.  

Sinbad’s eyes found yours and he smiled _ — and was there pink on his cheeks? — _

That train of thought was lost as he slipped slick, slippery fingers into you, knuckles disappearing one after the other. An intense surge of pleasure rattled through your body, your chest heaving and stuttered as you tried to collect breath. You twitched, flinching as every small movement sent a shot of rippling heat up your spine. The flex of his fingers, the scrape of his nails —  _ it was all maddening.  _ Every touch was magnified, verging on sensory overload. The sensations were overwhelming, bidding you to react. Your body twisted every which way, the pleasure building and seeking an outlet, but there was none to be found yet.  

_ “God,” _ you groaned, pulling your hands over your face. 

“I’m flattered, but not quite,” you heard in response, and you were too silly with feeling to even scoff.  

Two at first, then three, four— Sinbad’s digits drove into you again and again, while his other hand decided to have mercy on you. The other hand found your hot, throbbing erection and teased the head, before stroking hard and true.  

The solid grip and the friction both made you choke, finally receiving what you had wanted for so long. You whimpered, eyes opening blearily. You called for him, begged, pleaded him, until your words were an incoherent mess. 

_ “Please— Sinbad—”  _ you hissed. You twisted, before you felt it. 

There was heat that welled in your body, and you came with a shudder. You spilled over yourself and Sinbad’s fingers, the same time a wave of electricity bounded off you, washing over your body. Rivulets of cobalt, jagged lines ran down your bare body, fading to nothing as soon as they had conjured. At the dispelling sensation of your own rukh swimming across your body, you writhed, feeling warm and tingly. In your bleary vision, you could see the last of the static playing on your fingers. 

Your head fell back onto the bed, your body sagging as you exhaled. Your throat was dry.  

You quickly felt yourself go slack with fatigue, spent. It was over, you thought.  _ Over,  _ your mind drowsily murmured. Or so you thought, when you felt a resurgence of heat rip through you. It amassed at your groin, so sudden and piercing it was almost painful. You cried out, sitting up on your forearms as you saw your flagging erection harden and rise. Your weary eyes watched in disbelief, but then saw Sinbad’s sheepish look. You glared at him, recognizing the touch of Zepar over your mind.  

“Just a little more?” he asked, putting on his most dazzling smile. You weren’t amused, not when he leaned forward and placed an apologetic kiss on your shoulder, and not when he hiked your lower half up by your thighs. 

You scrambled for his shoulders for leverage, tense and stiff.  

_ “Relax _ — _ ”  _ he said, almost a coo in your ear. Or perhaps it had been the ghost in your mind — you were too addled to be sure. You did as he — it? — said, preparing yourself. 

You had expected the typical pressure, the feeling of being split apart. You expected to grit your teeth and bear it. But when Sinbad began rocking into you, you let out a sound between a choked gasp, whimper, and moan. Your mind was consumed with pleasure, pain,  _ feeling _ . 

_ The acute awareness you had of him pushing through you, the pants in the air, the slap of skin against skin—  _ You could hear, feel, taste it all at once. 

Not only was your mind overrun with your own experience, you could you feel  _ his  _ as well. There was warmth wrapping around your erection that there shouldn’t have been, warmth that belatedly, you realized, was  _ you _ . The overlapping sensations made you quiver, and you let out a teary exclaim against your better judgment.  

“Oh— oh my God— _ oh my  _ **_God—”_ ** you repeated, your tongue heavy and your words slurred. This time Sinbad didn’t have a quip for you, his own face pinched in focus and feeling. He grunted, bringing you onto the base of his cock each time he pumped forward. From the two hands you had gripped on his shoulders, one fell between your thighs to ease the pressure building in your length to bring you to your second finish.  

“Not yet,” Sinbad whispered, bringing your hand away from pleasuring yourself. You made a noise of disapproval, groaning. You tightened your grip on his shoulders to the extent that you knew must’ve been painful in petty vengeance. But by the look on his face, you knew he was just amused.  

“Then  _ faster _ — I can’t take this,” you pleaded, tears prickling at your eyes.  

You quickly became a writhing mess under him. You clung to him, chest to chest. Your fingers found his hair, pulling at the tie until it broke. It fell unburdened onto and tickled your skin, looking like someone had spilt ink the color of wine against your skin. Sinbad continued to pump himself into you with vigor.  

You hadn’t even known when you had came until you did. It was mind-numbing, your eyes disappearing behind fluttering lids. You hadn’t even known when Sinbad had came until  _ he  _ did, either. You felt liquid heat spread inside you, and your back hit the surface of the bed. You laid panting, letting out a low groan when Sinbad withdrew himself from you. It left you with an empty feeling, but you couldn’t complain — your consciousness was already drifting off. 

Your mind cleared of its drowsiness after some time. And when it did, you swung up in one swift motion, breath caught in your throat. You were met with Sinbad sitting in front of you, half dressed. You didn’t know what to do but look straight back at him, contemplating bringing the sheets up to your chest, to escape from under his gaze, but the idea of that was embarrassing. You settled with pulling it no further past your hips, though you were acutely aware of his eyes trailing up your figure.  

You refused to show vulnerability, despite the fact that you had been vulnerable to him in multiple levels just minutes ago. At your flushed, guarded expression, Sinbad laughed. It wasn’t like one of his trademark sultry chuckles. It was loud and unbounded, the kind that hurt afterwards. 

You felt your skin heat in disbelief and mortification.  

“What’s so funny?” you asked, mustering up the strength not to hide yourself under the sheets. 

The last paroxysms of humor died down, and Sinbad was rubbing at his eyes. Your fury only flared more, and you contemplated summoning the rukh required to light the bed in flames.  

“Sorry, sorry — I’m not really laughing at  _ you _ ,” he said. He paused. “Well, I guess I am.” At your deadpanned face, Sinbad raised his hands in defense.  

“Don’t give me such a scary face — I’ll leave you alone for a while.”  _ But only just a little while,  _ he thought in the back of his mind.  

He stood up, stretching languidly. His muscles pulled taut, and you looked away, if only to prevent stroking his vanity. He picked up his remaining clothes from where they lay scattered about. 

You snorted at what he had said. “In the small time I’ve been on this godforsaken island, you have never left me alone,” you muttered flatly. Sinbad, dressed, turned to you. You hadn’t expected anything in response, really. Especially not what came next. 

“I guess that’s because I like you.” 

You turned your head to him, expecting the familiar sly look on his face. Instead you were met with smoldering amber, a gaze that said it was as confused as you were. 

You looked at him, face frozen. Then, his words turned over in your head, along with what they meant. 

He smiled with great amusement at your expression—something he found himself doing often. He walked to the door, twisting the knob, and halfway through the doorway when he turned you with a jovial expression. 

“Don’t stay  _ too  _ long. People might wonder where we were all this time.” 

With that he left you there, in that room, under the sheets, with newfound knowledge churning in your thoughts. 

You looked down at your hands, at the wrist that Sinbad had gripped so tightly some time ago. You could still feel the phantom of his touch. You thought of that irritating, shit-eating grin and the deceiving gold of his eyes. You thought of the hair that trailed down his back and the firm muscle of his arms, the power that radiated off him. You thought of Sinbad’s kind guiding of Alibaba’s training, and you thought of the amaryllis he held between your eyes. 

Your throat grew tight. 

You sighed in resignation, as you thought of the fact that you couldn’t  _ stop  _ thinking of him. You knew with good certainty what the current skittering in your chest and the heat in your cheeks meant right now — and it wasn’t Zepar. 

“... Goddamn it.” 

  
  
  


**Author's Note:**

> :^) comment maybe... kudos?? tell me what i can improve...
> 
> \o/ thanks for reading and thank you n once again!


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